Chaos Theory
by indraaas
Summary: The fates give a dying man one last chance to atone for his sins, and Future Rogue finds himself traveling to the past once more to give his daughter a fighting chance in a world where both her parents are alive and peace reigns. There's just one problem - her parents are not the happy couple she remembers them being.
1. The Butterfly Effect

**A/N:** It's been about a year, and after some careful reflection I've decided to rewrite this fic. The main reasoning behind this is that this fic was published in 2016 and my writing has improved _exponentially_ since then. I've also garnered a bit of an affinity for fics in the present tense (thanks, aunty) so trying to write any further in the past tense that this fic originally used would...be uncomfortable to say the least.

If you remember reading this fic, _please reread the first chapter, it has been entirely rewritten_. Chapter two underwent some solid work as well, but chapter three is unchanged save for the tense switch. I understand it's been a while since this fic was updated so a majority of you will be rereading it anyway, but I wanted to be sure to stress this. The original chapters two and three will have been deleted by the time you get this update, and their counterparts will have been published in their place. Chapter one (this chapter) is the only one to be 'replaced'.

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail, Hiro Mashima does. I do not own the songs used at the beginning and end of each chapter.**

* * *

 _Why didn't we meet sooner? Why did loneliness burn our hearts?_

 _Have we become complete by meeting? Or were we better alone?_

 _Oh, my beloved._

 _Neither mine nor yours,_

 _Our love could not complete._

 _Listen, my cruel beloved._

 _-Saware_

* * *

 **Unknown Timeline.**

 **Magnolia, Fiore.**

 **Tuesday, November 22nd, X793.**

 **12:33 AM.**

 _She's a lot smaller than he imagined. Squishier, redder. She barely manages to fill out a small portion of the crude wooden crib she's ensconced in. Still, she's comfortable there, swathed in his black cloak and surrounded by the strongest runes they could etch into the bars._

" _She finally settled down?"_

 _He smiles. He's been smiling a lot today. He tilts his head back and drops one hand from the railing, an invitation to join him. She shuffles in close, and his arm immediately falls to her waist, supporting her weak frame._

" _She's got your hair," she murmurs, reaching down to stroke the downy tufts. He shoots her blonde locks, piled high on her head, a pointed look. "I wasn't aware."_

" _Oh, shut up." She swats his chest lightly and leans over the rails as far as she can go without tipping over. "Your father's a bit of a sarcastic grouch when he deigns to speak," she whispers conspiratorially. A curl falls from her bun and onto the baby's nose. She scrunches her nose and turns her face, much to the amusement of her mother. "Look, she's got emotions! My genetics in action."_

" _She's not even a day old, stop corrupting her," he orders, tugging her back upright. His other arm joins the first in circling her waist, and he rests his chin on her head, deep in thought as he rubs circles into the softly rounded skin beneath his fingers. He's no doubt her stomach will be as taut as before in no time at all. Food is hard to come by, and no matter how much of his own he gives her, it still won't be enough. The baby -_ their _baby - will be fine for the period of time she's breastfeeding, but after that it's one more mouth...he and the scouting team will have to move ahead to canvass for a safer location with more supplies._

 _Thin fingers cup the back of his neck. He draws back and rests his forehead against hers, sighing. He knows that she knows - that she_ understands _their predicament - but he can't bring himself to unload his worries on her. Not when she's been through so much already. He opens his eyes and is met with a pair the colour of honey. He hopes their child has hers. A little bit of her and a little bit of him. Something to live on if one of them doesn't. She smiles, soft and bittersweet. "I know," she whispers. "_ I know _."_

" _We need to talk about contingencies," he replies. He doesn't like it. This is not the future he should be planning for their daughter, but there is nothing he can do about it. Fight, flight, or freeze, and for her, freezing is not an option. When all the fighting is done (when they're not there to do it anymore), fleeing is all she has left._

" _Now?" She breathes. "Can this wait? Just...a few more days. I just - I need to - just a few days. Can we just pretend-?"_

" _No. The sooner we do it…" he trails off. "The sooner we do it, the sooner we're able to enjoy more time with her." Enjoyment. Another lie. There will never be joy, not as long as the world is turning to ash around them. But they can try, he thinks. They can always try._

" _We use the Gate," she says immediately. "If...when there's nobody else left, the last person sends her through the Gate. When I die, or when you do-"_

" _If," he snaps, alarming even himself at the ferocity in his tone. He's made his peace with dying, written a goodbye letter and even has a will from his younger days stashed somewhere in a requip hole they'll never be able to open after he's gone. There's no escaping it, not here, but the inevitability in her tone, the the fact that she listed herself first, burns him up from the inside, clawing at his skin and settling deep in his chest. She won't die first. She won't die at all if he has anything to say about it. He repeats it again, softer now, "If you or I die."_

" _Then the last one standing takes her to the Gate," she continues. Her hands curl around the strands of his long hair, toying with them idly. He wonders if their daughter's will be as shaggy as his, or as tidy as his lover's._

" _Where do we take her?"_

" _Where else?" she laughs, a sound that's as calming as a summer's breeze. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots his daughter turn towards it, seeking the same comfort he's found. "Fairy Tail, of course."_

" _The apocalypse is perfect preparation for your Guild," he says dryly. "She'll be more than prepared to duck for cover when your idiotic teammates have a fight."_

" _And for you and Sting," she reminds him. "You may be all sullen, but when you two get started it's like I'm watching Natsu and Gajeel, I swear."_

" _With marginally less property damage, however I'll concede to that." He presses a small kiss to her lips, just enough to taste the water that still clings to them and her own natural scent beneath, then her cheeks and her nose and before he knows it, he's covered her face in kisses and salty tears that are equal parts his and hers. He presses his forehead to hers once more, breathing slightly raggedly (but breathing nonetheless)._

" _I love you, Rogue."_

" _Lucy...thank you."_

* * *

 **Present Day**

 **Magnolia, Fiore.**

 **Friday, October 15th, X792.**

 **10:47 PM.**

"You fucking cheater!" Sting screeches, scrambling to his feet. He waves a palm full of splinters, and an alarming amount of blood, at his idol, who's taken to jumping in what remains of the table and pumping his fists in the air victoriously.

"I won that round fair and square!" Natsu crows, taking a moment to pin his protege with a cocky smirk. "Face it! You're ten years too young to be thinking about beating _me_ , the great Salamander!"

"You realize you're both biologically the same age, right?" Gajeel points out dryly from his seat at the head of the table - or, rather, where the head of the table _would_ be had it not been demolished in what will undoubtedly go down as the third most epic arm-wrestling competition in the history of the Guild. Gajeel's managed to save his tankard of root beer ("No drinks until later," Mira had chided, "This is a last minute party so we get the alcohol last minute, too.") but the same can't be said for his plate of scrap iron. He takes a swig of his drink and keeps the tankard in front of his face in the hopes that the idiot duo will ignore him.

They don't.

"Gajeel-san! He cheated, he used magic!" Sting accuses. "He heated up his hand to get an unfair advantage."

Gajeel lets out a long-suffering sigh and chugs the rest of his drink, shooting Mira a mournful look. _Please?_ He silently begs. _Please, can you get me something that will blind me? Do you see what I'm dealing with?_

Mira smiles and turns away without a second glance.

Gajeel swears vengeance. But first, he has morons to rip into.

"Never said _not_ to use magic, so…" He shrugs in what he thinks is a diplomatic manner. It works for shorty all the time when she's talking to all the annoying counsellors she does jobs for, so it should, in theory, do the same for him.

Sting turns to Natsu and nods. "We should settle who won this with another competition."

"Chopsticks?"

"You're on."

Gajeel takes a bite out of his tankard. _That_ should show the she-devil.

* * *

"I'm marrying an idiot," Rogue mutters as he observes the rowdy group in the corner. Two seats down, Cobra snorts. "It's not too late to run. We don't have an extradition treaty with Alvarez, so if you hole up in some beachside hut he'll never know."

Lucy thwaps him upside the head and shoots Rogue a comforting smile. "Ignore him. He's just cranky because he didn't have his morning cup of poison. We're both so happy for you two, really!"

"Thank you," Rogue replies with a brief upturn of his lips. Frosch tugs his sleeve and the Shadow Dragon Slayer is pulled into a deep discussion with his Exceed and Happy about the finer points of tilapia versus haddock. Lucy shakes her head briefly and traces the rim of her mocktail glass. She's happy for them, she really is. If there are any two people on Earthland who deserve one another, it's Sting Eucliffe and Rogue Cheney. Light and Shadow. Yin and Yang. There is no one without the other. Seeing Sting exuberant is nothing new - it's an integral part of his personality - but there's a lightness to him that can't be explained away by ordinary behaviour; as for Rogue...he's happier than she's ever seen him. Still quiet and reclusive, but she watches his eyes drift over to Sting and his whole countenance relax as a result. _Smitten,_ she thinks. _Positively smitten._

Rogue's cloak shifts and so does Lucy. She flinches and slides a hand over her stomach, an ineffective barrier from shadows that will never come, but that she knows are angled and sharp, ready to pierce soft flesh and broken hearts. She bites the inside of her cheek, stopping only when she can taste copper on her tongue. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_. No matter how many times she reminds herself that they're not the same person, she can't help it. They are both, fundamentally, Rogue. But their Rogue and _that_ Rogue are forks off the same road. Nothing to fear.

Except when their eyes meet and she sees the same red that's burned in the back of her retinas, and he steps forward and she moves back, and he uses his magic and all that comes to mind is Future Lucy falling to the ground as a shadow spear blinks away, and _andand_ -

Cobra pokes her roughly. "Hey. Stop that shit. You're fine. It's an engagement party, we're here to get drunk and place bets on wedding hijinks."

Lucy avoids Rogue's probing eye and focuses on a bead of red juice as it drips down the side of her glass. She blinks and the bead is a blood red sky. She blinks again and Cobra's swiping it off with his finger and popping it in his mouth. "Ugh." He wrinkles his nose. "This is 95% sugar. Emo-prince, give this shit a whirl."

Rogue picks it up, takes a small whiff, and comes as close to gagging as she's ever seen him. "I'd rather not," he says, handing it back to her. Their fingers brush, and she's proud to say her heart only goes still for half a second before picking up pace again (she's getting better, she really is, because before she'd need to excuse herself to remember how to breathe again. She's getting better, she is, _sheisheisheis_ -). Judging by the tightening of Rogue's jaw, he heard that. Lucy smiles, a real, genuine thing that hurts her muscles to keep steady, and says, "Sorry. I'm just…"

"I know," Rogue replies. "I understand. Sorry."

"Man, you two are a depressing lot," Cobra grumbles. "And that's saying something seeing as I grew up with this gothic douche." He jabs a thumb at the body slumped over the bartop. Midnight half-heartedly flips him the bird before going back to sleep.

Lucy rolls her eyes and flags Mira down for a drink. It's officially eleven, and that's when the fun begins. One drink and maybe she can start a conversation with Rogue. She shakes her head firmly. One drink and she _will_ start a conversation with Rogue. She's going to ask him about what he plans on wearing to the wedding, and whether or not he needs help finding a venue because she has some connections from her days in the Konzern and she's going to put them to good use. She _will_ extend the olive branch, because it's not fair for him to feel like she blames him for what his future self did.

Her musings are cut short as Cobra backs up, Rogue following in suit. She opens her mouth to ask what they're doing, and is promptly answered by Natsu slamming into her back and sending her careening over the bartop.

"Natsu!"

* * *

 **Within the Eclipse Gate**

 **Date Unknown.**

 **Time Unknown.**

The Gate is more volatile this time around.

His memories of the first time he'd crossed the barrier of time and space are hazy. He can't remember anything besides white-hot rage and bloodlust and cries for war in his veins. If the grotesque _things_ crawling towards him had been there the first time around, then the magic he stole from Sting had dealt with them before he could have noticed.

This time, he doesn't have the energy to tap into the light, so he does what he does best and becomes one with the shadows. It's not hard - there's no light in the Gate, after all, so he can melt into everything and nothing all at once. He can feel the things, gnarled and without definitive shape, seeking him out, grasping one another and morphing into larger, uglier beings that are torn apart by another pair, seeking more _moremore_.

Such is the nature of the Gate. Take or be taken.

He grips the small body in his arms tighter, drawing her closer to his chest, closer to the darkness. He thinks of days when she was smaller. Days filled with blonde hair and shadow puppets and laughs like a summer's breeze. She'll know what that means, now. What a summer feels like. One with beaches and the cold ocean and sunburns and things that aren't hiding in bunkers from the sunlight, because there's always the risk that dragons will crush her when he's not around to keep her safe.

And he won't be around to see it.

But he deserves no less.

" _Where do we take her?"_

" _Where else? Fairy Tail, of course."_

Future Rogue clenches his jaw and pushes forward.

* * *

 **Present Day**

 **Magnolia, Fiore.**

 **Friday, October 15th, X792.**

 **11:30 PM.**

"I'm heading home," Lucy announces. "It's getting late and my head is killing me, no thanks to a _certain someone_."

At this, Natsu chuckles weakly and presses the melted remains of an ice cube into his ribs with more force than necessary as his blonde teammate pins him with a vicious glare. The skin is already a brilliant shade of purple and is sure to stay that way for a few days. Gray rolls his eyes and produces yet another chunk of ice for the swelling. Though normally he would've laughed at his rival's misfortune, there is an unspoken agreement that angry Lucy must be met with Erza protocol - that is, to say, _shut up and be best friends._

"Want me to come with?" Cobra asks as she slides off her stool and lays down a few bills to cover her tab.

"Nah, it's fine," she assures him. "It's a safe walk, and I know you want to stay back to get in the middle of another couple bar fights. I'll leave my door unlocked for you, okay?"

"I don't want to get into fights, I just…happen to always be around for the interesting ones," he counters. "I'll be over in a couple hours. Put the drain cleaner in the fridge for me."

"You can put drain cleaner in the fridge?" Natsu asks incredulously. "Wait, you _put_ drain cleaner in the fridge?"

Gray stabs his bruise with two fingers. "Shut up, moron, don't draw attention our way."

"Make sure you bundle up," Cobra says. "It's getting cold outside."

"I'll be _fine_ ," she replies. A soft weight deposits itself on her shoulders, and Lucy whips around, stumbling back a little at Rogue's proximity. He ducks his head down reflexively to hide his mouth in a scarf that's now wrapped around her neck.

"I'll be staying in the Guild Hall anyway," he says. "You can return it to me tomorrow."

 _Olive branch for an olive branch._

"Thank you, Rogue," Lucy smiles. "See you for breakfast?"

He hesitates briefly. Nods slowly, and then vigorously. "I'll reserve a booth for us all."

"And a strawberry milkshake," she teases. Rogue, however, appears to take her seriously, mouthing her order once before turning back to Frosch and Happy to referee their game of Go Fish (played for real fish, Lucy can't help but note).

"Be careful," Midnight's mumble is barely loud enough to be heard over the chatter of the hall, but those close enough to hear it turn towards him. If Lucy remembers this right, these are the first words he's said since arriving earlier that afternoon.

"What do you mean?" Lucy asks. Her fingers find the inside of her elbow and she pinches hard, focusing on the sting. He's just wishing her well. A thing friends do. It's fine, she assures herself, even as her pulse picks up and the world starts to go a little fuzzy in the corners.

"Something feels off tonight," he replies, peering up at her from between his thick lashes. His head lays on the counter, cushioned by his arms. "Can't explain it. You'll be fine. You're strong, but still."

Cobra is as close to worried as she's ever seen him as he keeps his gaze on his best friend. "I'm walking you back."

"No," Lucy pushes him back in his seat. "You're gonna sit here and get in a couple of bar fights. You're going to outdrink Cana. You might even pass out here. Point is, if you come home anytime before three in the morning, you're not allowed back in my apartment for the next three visits. And I'll know if you followed me and doubled back."

Reluctantly, the Poison Dragon Slayer reaches for the remains of her fruity drink and nods. "I _will_ hear if anything happens. No matter how far you are from the Guild."

"Yeah, yeah, go be a happy not-drunk in the corner and place an illegal bet under my name with Cana."

In a split second decision she bends down to kiss him. Cobra squeezes her hand as she pulls away, a reassurance and a promise all in one. She waves once more, calling out a loud goodbye to everyone as she makes her way to the double doors.

His indigo eye swivels over to the Reflector Mage, who's lifted head high enough to watch her depart. "Macbeth."

"It's dark," he murmurs.

"Well, yeah, it's night," Natsu states. Cobra's brow furrows as Midnight rests his head in his arms again, staring off to the side vacantly.

"Macbeth?"

"She'll be fine," Midnight's eyes slide shut. "She always is."

Cobra pulls out a maraschino cherry from Lucy's drink and chews on it thoughtfully. He hates sweet things with a passion, but right now the disgusting syrup is the only thing distracting him from his rapidly darkening thoughts. He hones in on Lucy; she's only a few feet away, humming some dumb top forty hit under her breath. He allows himself a small smile before that turns to a frown; now that he's paying attention, he sees what Macbeth had meant.

The night is dark with the thickness of dark magic. A kind that he is intimately familiar with, but makes no sense given his knowledge on the subject.

The Gate had been destroyed, after all. There is no reason for its magic to be leaking into the air.

* * *

 **Present Day**

 **Magnolia, Fiore.**

 **Friday, October 15th, X792.**

 **11:46 PM.**

"They're all idiots, Plue," Lucy complains to the Canis Minor spirit. "It's so hot outside!"

"Puun!"

"This thing _does_ have its uses, though…" she muses, drawing the scarf up to cover her nose. The air is impossibly dry, which rings as odd to her. If anything, this sudden heat wave should be accompanied by humidity. Perhaps there's a fire nearby. It would explain the heat and the odd tinge of smoke to the air.

"Puun…" Plue moans, freezing on the spot.

"What's wrong, Plue?" the blonde asks. She's never seen the wobbly spirit go completely still in her time with him. Midnight's words drift to the forefront of her mind. Her hand falls to her whip instinctively, grasping the hilt and pulling it off.

Before she can unfurl the coil, a shadow flies out from the ground before her and jets into the mouth of an alley. She unfurls herself from the ball she's formed on the ground (she doesn't know how she got there but what she _does_ remember is a shadow and blood and _deathscreamingohgodnoLucyLucyLucymememememe_ -) and takes in unsteady gasps. Plue has already run off as fast as his little legs can carry him, on his way to Fairy Tail for backup.

She can't rationalize it. She's only ever seen this kind of magic with one person before, and he's at the bar in the Guild talking to his cat. There's no way it's him.

 _Yes, there is._

There's not. There's not, because she destroyed the Gate and Natsu had said he was gone, Natsu _promised_ and Natsu never broke promises. God she can't breathe, she can't think, she feels so much and so little and her stomach is screaming in phantom sympathy, bleeding so much, staining the castle floors, bubbling out of her lips. _It's not him, it's not him, he's gonegonegone, never coming back._

Red eyes meet her own and the world _shatters_.

"Lucy," Future Rogue rasps, taking a step towards her. He's worse for wear, clothes tattered and bloodied, black and white hair falling to his knees in matted waves. She spots blood in the white patches and doesn't want to imagine how much more in soaked into the black ones. She doesn't want to think of _whose_ it is.

"You need to look after her," he says, dropping to his knees before her. It's only then that she notices a bundle in his arms, small and dressed head to toe in black. Future Rogue shoves her (gently, if it can be described as such, as if the child - _child!_ \- is the most precious thing on the planet) into her arms. It's with a numb detachment that Lucy realizes the longer arms now wrapped around the girl are her own. She can't feel them. She can't feel her body.

"Her name is Cynthia Cheney," Future Rogue bites out. "Our daughter."

Her mouth twists open in a wordless scream. She can't even do that. Her mouth is so dry her tongue refuses to move, her throat swelling around the burst of air she wills out. Nothing.

Future Lucy had a child with this monster. _She_ had a child with this monster. Raised her with him. Gave her his last name. Made love to this monster. She's going to throw up. Future Rogue murdered his _lovermotherofhischildherLucy._ She's going to throw up. Future Lucy had faced this man, died at his hand, and _knew it._ She's going to throw up.

Acid burns her heart, but she can't even spit.

God, she can't do anything.

" _Listen to me!_ " Future Rogue snarls, grabbing her jaw with one hand and forcing her to meet his gaze. "You hate me, I get this, but _you need to protect her_. She has no idea what I…" he swallows thickly. "I'm paying the price for my sins. She has no chance on her own back there. Levy died shortly after I was returned, and that marks the end of all the people that we know there. She's alone and we agreed. One of us dies and there's nobody left to look after her, we bring her back here."

"Levy died?" she croaks. Blue hair spilling across rocks. Body pinned by the rubble. Alone. Bleeding. Glassy eyes staring up at a sky that refuses to cry as humanity's last defense winks out and dragons reign, triumphant.

Lucy cries for her.

"Focus," he says, ripping off his cloak and dropping it over the girl. His hand falls over Rogue's ( _their_ Rogue, _sane_ Rogue; Rogue, who is going to buy her a strawberry milkshake for breakfast) scarf, nodding. "Good. I'm here with you."

Does he think-?

"Look after her," he whispers, brushing the girl's hair back in a manner she can only describe as paternalistic. The same hands that destroyed the capital now rub a soothing circle into a sallow cheek.

It hits her like a truck.

"You're dying," she gasps. "You…"

"Call it Fate, but I had one last chance...to fulfill one promise." Red meets brown, and Future Rogue smiles. It's a small quirk she's seen before, shy and fleeting, like he's not used to doing it. "I could never break one when it came to you."

"When do you go?" Lucy asks. "How do you know when to…"

"They've been calling me back since I got here," he says. "I don't want to."

"You have to." She's surprised at how even her voice is. "I'll look after her."

She will, that's for sure. Not for Future Rogue, but for Future Lucy, who had taken a shot meant for her and paid the ultimate price. The girl - _Cynthia_ \- will never know a life without a mother. Lucy may not be as battle-hardened and solemn as her Future Self, but they are, fundamentally, one and the same. She is softer, happier, and more easily broken than Future Lucy, but she will learn.

She will.

"She's seven years old," Future Rogue informs her. "Caster Type with an affinity for water. She doesn't like the dark, so get her a nightlight. We used Sting's magic before I-before he died. She enjoys stories, especially yours. The one you never got published. She's quiet at first but once you get to know her, she never shuts up." He laughs. "You always said she got my looks and your personality underneath it all."

"When's her birthday?"

"November 22nd, X793."

Barely two years after the Dragon Festival.

Shit.

"I'll look after her," Lucy says suddenly. "I promise. You in the past will be there to raise her, too. I won't let her forget you."

"Thank you." He pulls her into a hug so tight her bones creak in protest. Copper bursts over her tongue once more. _He's dying_ , she tells herself. _Dying, just let him have this before he goes_. She buries her face into his shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut against the soft golden glow of his body. He's becoming less solid as the seconds tick by, so she digs in more, seeking his warmth. It's what _she_ would have done.

"Lucy, I…"

His final words melt into the sky as he disappears in a burst of golden light.

Lucy closes her eyes and weeps.

" _...love you."_

* * *

 _A traveler of the fading night said goodbye in the morning._

 _I couldn't be yours while living,_

 _Dying, I pay my dues._

 _-Saware_

* * *

 **A/N:** I hope the revised chapter was to everyone's satisfaction. I had a lot of fun with it!

Hit that mf review button!

-Eien


	2. Quench

**A/N:** You're all pretty lucky. If you haven't guessed already, you get a four-chapter dump before I go on to work on the next installment.

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail, Hiro Mashima does. I also do not own any of the songs used at the beginning and end of the chapters.**

* * *

 _Whether or not I exist in this world,_

 _Whether or not you exist in this world,_

 _May our love stay alive forever._

 _Whether or not this Earth and Sky exist,_

 _May our love stay alive forever._

 _-Salamat._

* * *

 **Present Day**

 **Magnolia, Fiore.**

 **Saturday, October 16th, X792.**

 **12:00 AM.**

Some days, Mest misses being able to drink.

Rehabilitation from alcoholism helps solve a lot of things, but most of the time it's just the psychology of it all - why, how, when, all that jazz. The physical dependence, the thirst for liquor that never goes away, is his precariously positioned cross to bear; a silent reminder of how far he's come and how soon it can come crashing down on his head.

He remembers a fuzzy conversation with his AA sponsor - something about how the safest way to avoid relapse is to avoid situations that put you in contact with the addictive substance, and how bypassing physical routes taken while addicted help lessen your chances of relapsing because you avoid being exposed to conditioned stimuli that indicated you were on your way to a bar. Still, he fiddles with the rubber band around his wrist and watches Mira open up the taps. Just to see how long he can last without his body going cold for the ethanol.

(That's the funny thing about alcohol: it provides the illusion of warmth while sapping away at your core heat, leaving you colder than before and entirely dependant on the drink to stay alive.)

(As alive as you can get.)

He manages thirty-five minutes before he snaps the rubber band against his wrist and stands up to bid everyone goodbye. A polite smile for the newly engaged couple, solemn nod for Jellal, and a tight hug for Wendy (the redness on his wrist is gone when he pulls away) before he slips out the double doors and heads south towards Strawberry Street.

Teleporting would have been more convenient. His magic levels are comfortably full and he isn't exhausted in the least, but the night is somewhat warm for once and he likes the feel of the humidity on his skin.

He likes warm things.

Besides, if he recalls correctly Lucy left a scant few minutes before him. They live in the same apartment complex - neighbours, actually - so this won't be the first time they've walked home together. If he picks up his pace a little he'll bump into her in no time.

He refuses to admit it, but it's mostly because he can't trust himself to be alone right now. Lucy is always willing to lend her sofa to him when he needs company.

As Mest briskly makes his way up the cobblestone road, his heavy boots clicking against the stone rhythmically in time with his heartbeat, he can't help but notice how _heavy_ the air is. It isn't the humid-induced kind of heavy, either. This is the same kind of heaviness that had blanketed Crocus during the Dragon Festival. His magic picks up on it before he does - he's requipped one of his heavy combat knives and his free hand twitches restlessly to call its twin. He settles for tossing it between his hands instead.

The knife is airborne when he spots Lucy hunched over the middle of the road, and then there are two.

"Lucy?" Mest calls. He drops to his knees at her side and curses. He's seen that glassy-eyed expression before - in textbooks, the battlefield, and in the bathroom mirror. No amount of shaking will snap her out of this. He drops one of the knives behind her (within easy reach) and holds the other with the blade parallel to his forearm. "Lucy, it's Mest. Doranbolt. Which name do you recognize?"

"Mest," she breathes.

 _Either she remembers me from Tenrou or me now. Either way, I have her implicit trust._

"What happened?" Mest asks. It's hard to keep the curtness out of his tone but time is of the essence. Her attacker could be nearby waiting to take them both out. He's a shitty long range fighter but his close-combat is unparalleled. With a charge to keep safe, though, his best bet is medium and retreat.

"Future Rogue," Lucy gasps.

He goes perfectly still.

After the Games, Mest's main task was going around and replacing the memories of citizens in regards to the Dragon Invasion. Though he had been strongly opposed to the matter he knew that he had no choice but to obey the Council's directive. Fiore was in a delicate shape following the destruction of the capital and if word was to get out that the Royal Family had played a part in Crocus's downfall, even if it was accidental, the political uproar would be disastrous for the country as a whole. There was no time to balance repairing Crocus and burying the dead with criticizing the throne. Even the slightest chance of a coup d'êtat, Lahar had said, was too much. So Mest did what he did best and he quickly, quietly, and efficiently replaced the memories of dragons and Future Rogue with an invading Dark Guild whose ringleader used illusions of dragons to distract mages while they pillaged.

That embellishment had helped explain away the many dead mages left in the aftermath, and with a bevy of Balam Alliance members in jail to get information from in exchange for a few luxuries, there were a lot of minor Dark Guilds to blame.

While the therapists set up shop, Mest offered to alter memories for the defending Guilds'. Nothing was too big and nothing was too small, but the brief glimpse he'd gotten of Lucy's fate of the night, pieced together with bits of memory from the mages who had been there, gave _him_ chills.

He knows what Future Rogue is capable of, what he's done, but there is no way he's alive. Natsu's recall confirmed it right after the event: Future Rogue is _dead_ , and engrams don't lie. Not the kind he looks for.

 _If he can cross timelines...who's to say he isn't?_

"He's dead, Lucy," Mest says. His voice is firm. "Natsu got rid of him, remember? You saw. Future Rogue isn't here. I am."

"No," Lucy whispers hoarsely. "He was just here and…" she glances down at her arms, gazing at the black bundle in stark terror. "He gave me Future Lucy's baby. _Their_ baby."

He's going to throw up. He barely registers the sound of his knife clattering to the ground and his palm falling on top of it. "They had a baby?" Mest croaks. "He killed the mother of his child?"

"There was nobody left," Lucy says quietly. "She was alone."

They all died then. _He_ died.

"We need to take her to the Guild. To Wendy. You both need medical attention."

Lucy bites her lip nervously, gnawing at already cracked flesh. "Can we go to Porlyusica instead? It's just...I can't...not now."

"Cobra's probably heard you already," he warns as he sends his knives back to their requip stores. He pauses and requips a small blade to affix at his wrist - just in case.

"Porlyusica has wards," Lucy says. "I helped Freed put them around her house."

Mest sighs. "Alright, I'll take you to Porly's. I've never done a mass teleportation before, so I'm warning you to get ready for anything. Hold onto her tightly."

As he gathers them in his arms, he can't help but shiver.

It's almost as if something... _brushed_ him.

Licking his lips, he allows the familiar feeling of emptiness to fill him from the feet up and he lets everything go black.

* * *

 **Present Day**

 **Eastern Magnolia Forest, Fiore.**

 **Saturday, October 16th, X792.**

 **12:13 AM.**

Porlyusica's hut is located in a pine grove deep in the forest bordering Magnolia. Though it appears small from the outside, the interior houses a small seating area attached to a kitchenette, a back room where she treats her patients, another room where she creates her medicines, and a room where she sleeps.

Mest chalks up the size discrepancy to magic and leaves it at that.

He sits squished in the corner of her treatment room, nursing a small cup of tea and watching as the grouchy hermit frits between Lucy and her daughter from the future, who is still sound asleep.

"You will be paying for the damages incurred to my living room," Porlyusica says coldly. "That table was priceless."

Mest winces. Judging by the way the wood split under his back when he had fallen through it, it had been high quality pine. Hand-carved. Still, he nods. If there was one person whose path he never wishes to cross, it is Fairy Tail's psychopathic on-call.

"The Celestial Mage is in shock, you were right. She's also got several bruises, no thanks to you," Porlyusica sneers. Lucy turns to him and shakes her head. "It's nothing to worry about. Thank you for getting us here."

"Yeah, no problem," he mumbles. "Granny, what about the kid?"

"The girl is malnourished," she replies. Her wrinkled forehead pinches as she stares at the girl under the sheets. "She's severely underweight and dehydrated. I've only ever seen this level of malnourishment in war zones, which is in line with what her timeline consisted of." Porlyusica snaps off her gloves and tosses them in the nearby trash. "She will not be able to eat any solid foods in large quantities for a while."

"What?" Lucy exclaims. "But she's malnourished! We need to feed her!"

"Idiot girl, I'm not saying we starve her more. In layman's terms, because she has been denied food for so long, allowing her to gorge herself will only make her sicker. I have her on an IV for now," the healer explains. "I will determine when she is able to eat solids and at what quantities soon enough. Until then, she stays here. Her blood work shows that she is severely deprived of key vitamins and minerals, so we will have to get her supplements in a pill form."

Mest's head is spinning.

The girl is, what, four? Four. She's as badly torn up as men he's seen return from deep-ops.

Just how bad is the future?

A small part of him wonders if that was how Future Mest died. Starved to death. Unable to stomach anything but so hungry that everything looked edible. Water like a flip of a coin. Would it kill him to drink it or would it keep him alive? Would he chug it so fast that he threw up and lost more precious nutrients, or would it kill him in his desperation to quench his thirst with water that was poisoned with blood and dirt?

Suddenly, the tea is too bitter and the room is too hot. Or was it the other way around? Either way, when Porlyusica turns her back he quickly dumps the contents in the potted plant near his foot.

"Are you sure the others can't find us?" Lucy presses.

Porlyusica sighs irritably and replies, "For the tenth time, yes. My hut is warded against intruders. I had that walking Christmas tree write up the runes himself; anyone I or my patients perceive as a threat will not be able to enter, even if we don't consciously focus on a specific threat."

Lucy frowns. "They're my guild mates, they're not a threat to me."

Porlyusica smiles thinly. "That is what you think. Regardless, you three are staying the night. I'm going to bed, there's nothing more I can do here." Mest notes that she hasn't asked Lucy why she's so reluctant to meet up with her guild mates. Porlyusica would argue that she doesn't care for human squabbles, but he has a feeling it has less to with that and more to do with understanding. Porlyusica isn't one to sugarocat, but she does have a sense of time and place. So long as it doesn't directly affect her, he supposes, she really doesn't care either way.

They can both agree that Lucy has been through enough already and doesn't need the added stress of telling her Guild right away on top of all her other worries.

"You! Hooligan, you follow me, we need to discuss the damages. You! Girl, sleep. Your daughter won't be awake for a while now, no point in fretting," Porlyusica orders.

"Cynthia."

The two pause.

"Her name is Cynthia Cheney," Lucy says.

Surprisingly, it's Porlyusica who speaks up. "A good, strong name," she says. Mest swears he hears something almost maternal in her tone but he brushes it off as exhaustion.

"Goodnight," Lucy murmurs, flopping back on her cot and closing her eyes. Mest makes to leave the room but hesitates as the healer stands by the doorway for a few minutes. Finally, she wheels around and closes the door.

"She's asleep," she says shortly.

"How can you tell?"

"Her breathing pattern evened out, as did her heartbeat," she says.

"You can tell from that far? You healers are crazy."

Amusement flashes on her face for a moment, and Mest can't help but feel as if he's just made a joke only she understands. "Yes, healers like myself can tell. Now let's move before we wake her up."

"Look, I can mail you a cheque or something for the table-"

"I don't care about the living room, that table was ugly anyway. I need to know the whole story." She raises an eyebrow. "The _whole_ thing. Telling me that Future Rogue impregnated Future Lucy and brought his daughter to the past is not enough."

Mest drops to a cross-legged position. "Might as well make yourself comfortable," he pats the chair next to him. "This is going to get very long and very confusing, very fast."

The hermit sits and he opens his mouth, starting all the way from where it began, nearly four centuries ago.

Porlyusica is a good listener. She never once makes any noises or interrupts him. The few times he glances up between breaths, her face is composed and gaze focused ahead. Mest speaks for what seemed like hours on end but when he peeks at the clock up in the corner, he notes that only forty-five minutes have passed. When he's done, the two of them sit in heavy silence.

"This is a mess," she declares. "A horrible, horrible mess. Time is not something that should be trifled with. This is going to have serious repercussions on everyone involved."

"Explain."

"Not only will Cynthia have to live with the knowledge that her mother and father are not together, she will eventually learn of what her actual timeline's parent's were like. You cannot hide her history from her. Soon she will ask where the dragons are here. She will wonder why it's so peaceful. She'll wonder why her parents no longer love each other in that way when they have every opportunity to do so.

"Think about the parents now. Rogue Cheney is traumatized enough as is from that night. He stopped using his magic for a month after the Games for fear of his shadows overwhelming him. What do you think the knowledge that his Future self not only got a woman pregnant, but it happened to be the same woman his future self murdered in cold blood, will do to him? His engagement to Sting Eucliffe being in jeopardy is the lightest thing that can happen to him. Lucy Heartfilia is scarred from that night in every way imaginable. Now she has to wake up to a reminder of that man every single day. How do you think Cobra is going to react to his lover raising a child that isn't his? These are just the most basic scenarios."

"We need drinks," Porlyusica grumbles, procuring a flask from behind another potted plant and taking a swig of it. She extends the metal container towards him with a humourless smile. "We need to plan. Do you think we can do this sober?"

Mest stares at the flask for a long time. The burn in his throat is still there, clawing up and causing him to salivate to put it out. His stomach is colder than before. He can smell the sharp tang and knows exactly what it will feel like going down.

It will feel like bliss. It will feel like a couple hours of letting go and being free of the incessant fire in his mouth for once.

It will feel like warmth in his cold body

Mest grasps it firmly and takes a sip. Then another. And then another. He doesn't notice he is sucking for spare drops until Porlyusica snatches it out of his grasp and stands up. "I'll be back," she says. "We need more booze."

 _Yes,_ Mest thinks tiredly. _We really, really do._

* * *

 _Whether or not the moon shines,_

 _May our love stay alive forever._

 _Whether or not I exist in this world,_

 _Whether or not you exist in this world,_

 _May our love stay alive forever._

 _-Salamat_

* * *

 **A/N:** I really do love writing for Mest's character.

Hit that mf review button!

-Eien


	3. Cell Tower

**A/N:** This chapter was largely untouched save for the tense change, but it should be a good refresher for what comes next.

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail, Hiro Mashima does. I also do not own any of the songs used at the beginning and end of the chapters.**

* * *

 _The rain of this season,_

 _The water of this rain,_

 _The droplets of water,_

 _They're searching for you._

 _This desire to meet,_

 _This desire is old._

 _My story completes only through you._

 _-Baarish_

* * *

 **Present Day**

 **Magnolia, Fiore.**

 **Friday, October 15th, X792.**

 **11:55 AM.**

The second Plue bursts through the doors, Cobra knows something is wrong.

"Puuun!" the spirit wails to anyone who will listen. "Puun! Puun, puuun!"

"What is it?" Cobra asks sharply. The Guild falls into a hush. It isn't often that Lucy lets the Canis Minor roam around on its own. In fact, she _never_ lets Plue out of sight. Cobra exchanges a look with Midnight. The reflector mage is already on his feet and ready to go. That's the nice thing about Midnight; he just _understands._

"Puun!" Plue waves his hands animatedly. "Puun, puuun!"

"Should we get him a chalkboard?" Mira asks. Cobra shakes his head. "Takes too long to spell. We need something faster."

Kinana perks up. "Words! Plue, does this have to do with Lucy?"

Plue nods vehemently.

"Is Luce in trouble?" Natsu demands from his corner where he has Gray still locked in a semi-loose chokehold. The Ice Mage is too concerned with the situation at hand to break free. Plue nods again.

"What kind?" Erza presses. "New enemy? Was it a Guild?" Plue shakes his head. "Old enemy from a Guild?"

Plue pauses. "Puun."

"Half right," Cobra says. "That's all I need to know. Which way?"

Plue bolts for the doors and waves his little paw. He will lead them there, then. Cobra clears the room in three quick strides, Midnight on his heels, and turns abruptly. "The rest of you stay here. We can't have a stampede out on the streets. Salamander and Stripper go hunt down the amnesiac. Emo prince, little dragon, you're with me. I-"

Cobra's hand suddenly lashes out to grab the door frame to keep himself from stumbling. There are absolutely no words to describe the sudden wave of terror and pain that hits him. Little Erik from the Tower dominates his thoughts right now and little Erik knows that when someone is in this much pain it means he's next and he needs to _hide_ and _run away_ and make himself as small as possible so no one knows he exists because if he doesn't exist then no one can hurt him. But little Erik from the Tower was dead and all that is left is Cobra, and the only thing Cobra knows to do is fight until the threat is eliminated.

"What the fuck is that?" Laxus mutters from the second floor. Cobra's eye swivels up and pins him with the most serious gaze he can muster. "You can feel it?"

"Feels like the night of the Dragon Festival," Sting says. Beside him, pale as the napkin he is gripping, Rogue nods in slow agreement. Cobra furrows his brow. While he hadn't been all too involved with the main mess during the Festival, he's heard a lot of things about it from the others - their souls, to be exact - and, out of respect for Rogue, Cobra never pries for details (he is cruel, but even he has his limits). What he does know, however, is that the Shadow Slayer is too close to the incident for his liking, and if this is some freak recurrence then Rogue won't be able to stay rational and Cobra needs _rational_.

"Change of plans," Cobra says shortly. "Rogue, you're staying here and running base. Laxus, Wendy, let's go."

"I can handle it," Rogue says coldly. "Do not treat me like I am a child."

"Fine, you wanna be treated like an adult? Fine. You're still a traumatized mess no matter how hard you try to play it off and I don't need to be dealing with you having a panic attack in the corner when we might be facing off against your evil twin again. Happy?" Rogue purses his lips but says nothing. Cobra nods. "Right. We're wasting time, let's go."

* * *

 **Present Day**

 **Magnolia, Fiore.**

 **Saturday, October 16th, X792.**

 **12:03 AM.**

Laxus offers to lightning-teleport them there individually but Cobra declines on the grounds of practicality. If the deluded freak (as Future Rogue has been christened in the thirty seconds after they'd exited the Guild) is present then leaving one person behind to grab the rest is tantamount to suicide. Jogging is slower, but safer.

"Cobra," Laxus says quietly as he catches up to him. "Lucy."

"What about her?"

"There's a chance she may have walked into this," Laxus says.

"I know. She's fought him once before, she'll do it again." Cobra shakes his head. "I don't hear her anywhere near this, though."

"Doesn't mean she's not involved." Cobra turns his head fully, pinning his fellow second-gen with a chilling glare. "Do you think I can't tell my girlfriend's soul apart from the millions out there?"

"Have you ever heard her soul in genuine distress?" Laxus challenges. Cobra grinds his teeth sharply and speeds up.

"Guys!" Wendy shouts. "Look!" She points to the sky. A soft, radiant golden shimmer soars towards the sky in a thin column. Cobra stands still, frozen in place by the anguish and acceptance that pulses from the epicentre, each wave filling his chest with lead. His three teammates stand by in silence. To a degree, Laxus and Wendy can feel what he is feeling. Not the exact emotions, but their heightened senses can probably pick up on the general sentiment and are thus paralyzed by it. Midnight can't feel any of it, but he silently waits for them to get their bearings.

"What the fuck," Laxus says, rubbing his chest. "That was messed up."

Wendy wipes at her eyes. "It was so sad," she says softly. "It felt like a goodbye."

"Death," Midnight murmurs. _Lucy_ , Midnight thinks. Laxus's comments from before ring in Cobra's head. What is it Wendy was always saying? N equals two, time to think it through? Cobra doesn't exactly have the necessary time to think through the statistics behind Lucy meeting the deluded freak for a second time and dying, but he does have his ears and his ears never lie.

He hears Lucy, Mest, and then nothing.

"Move!"

Wendy gets there first. Cobra catches up to her just as she starts inspecting the surrounding area for any clues. "I smell Future Rogue," she reports. "And Lucy and Mest."

"Except they're all gone," Laxus says. "Let's assume the golden light was Rogue leaving. Why would Mest grab Lucy and run?"

"Rogue travels by shadows," Midnight replies. "Not him. And Lucy could have been injured."

"No blood, no sign of a struggle," Wendy says. She jerks back suddenly, as if she'd just been hit. "But...during the festival...that same gold was how the future travellers...went back."

"So you're saying Rogue went back?" Cobra asks. "Why would he come here for two minutes and leave?"

"To take Lucy. Mest might have been collateral," Midnight puts out. This time it's Laxus who disagrees. "No. Lucy and Mest's trails are fresher."

"And there was a secondary pulse in the air. That's Mest's teleportation," Wendy says. "I've seen him do it so many times I know."

"If they went back to the Guild then they would have sent a messenger to tell us," Laxus says. Cobra nods absentmindedly. His mind is racing with plans and thoughts of Lucy. He can't concentrate if he's panicking over her so he pushes those feelings down with the semi-reassuring fact that Mest is with her and she'll be okay with a partner and focuses on planning. He is good at that.

"Laxus, go back to the Guild and give them a brief update. Split them up into squadrons, you know best how, then meet us at Lucy's place. Mest lives in the same complex so they might have gone there," Cobra orders. Laxus gives a short nod and disappears with a booming clap. Cobra turns to Wendy. "You have medical supplies?"

"Some in my bag." She touches the drawstrings. "I can stock up at Lucy and Mest's. I keep some extra stuff there."

"Good. Get what you can when we get there. Midnight, do a sweep, top to bottom of both their rooms."

"What will you be doing?"

His sole eye hardens. "Tracking Lucy."

* * *

 **Present Day**

 **Magnolia, Fiore.**

 **Saturday, October 16th, X792.**

 **12:13 AM.**

"I sent out five four-man cells and sent an alert to the other Guilds. Nothing specific, just that two of our members were missing and to be on the lookout." Laxus says. Cobra feels his eyes on the back of his head. "I told Rogue's team to head in the opposite direction of the scene. They won't be able to get his scent. Oh, and I separated Natsu, Gray, and Erza."

Cobra snorts. "Least we won't have to worry about the entire town being leveled in this mess. Go do something useful."

"Fuck you, too," Laxus calls as he goes to go join Wendy in the bathroom. Cobra closes his eye again, focusing on Lucy. Because he knows her soul best it'll be easier to get a general distance using her as a reference.

Tracking isn't as oversimplified as it is in those shitty movies Lucy likes watching. It's a lot more like cell towers. He sends out a ping, he'll get a subconscious ping back, and he'll work from there. Back during the Oracion Séis' glory days it was slightly more precise because he would use the Séis as the 'third tower' and pin down a closer location. Whoever was nearest got the pleasure of executing the job and the person. Using Mest as a 'third tower' will be useless because of how close he is to Lucy, so Cobra will have to settle for being less accurate.

Cobra searches deep in his soul for the bit of Lucy he'll use as the tag to find her. He visualizes little ribbons of his soul magic, silky and flowing, twirling as they search for her. _Lucy, are you there?_ He asks with each meter the ribbons flew past. _Answer me. Lucy, are you there?_

 _Erik_. There. So quiet he can barely hear it, but it's there. He focuses his magic in that direction, stretching the ribbons further and further and further and-

 _Erik_. That's his ping. The gentle bounce of her magic. Cobra bites his cheek and concentrates on the one ribbon that's registered Lucy. He's done the distance calculations before. This is no different. _So you tell yourself._

"Got her," he snaps. _I'm coming, Lucy._

"Where?" Midnight asks. Laxus raises an eyebrow. "Where have _you_ been?"

"Checking the floor plans for any safe rooms they could have gone to."

"How did you wake up Hilda at this time of night for that?"

"I didn't." Midnight's dark lips curl up wickedly. "Who needs permission if she's never going to know?"

"If I did my math right, they're about ten kilometers East," Cobra says. Laxus starts. "That's the woods. Why would they go to the woods?"

"Granny Porly," Wendy breathes. Her brown eyes shine in horror. "Someone's hurt."

Cobra's heart seizes momentarily before he straightens up and exhales sharply. There are a thousand reasons they could have gone to Porlyusica's other than treatment and even if someone is hurt ( _but nobody is_ , he stresses) then they're in good hands. Losing his shit now won't save Lucy so he rotates his wrists and waits for them to crack and the tension to release. _Calm, calm, calm, calm as an innocent fawn._ Sorano used to love repeating that before missions.

"Then we book it," Laxus says gravely. "I'll call off the search when we get confirmation." He pulls his phone and scrolls through his contacts, tapping one and pressing the device to his ears. "Kinana, it's Laxus. Cobra did a trace and we think they're at Granny Porly's. Keep that bit quiet, we don't need a mob at her place. Do me a favour and prep the infirmary. If anyone asks just say it's a precaution."

Wendy perks up. "Tell her to get four milligrams of ativan ready in case Lucy needs sedation. And get some IV's prepped. And-"

"Imagine you're getting ready for me returning from an S-class and throw in ativan," Laxus deadpans and hung up. Wendy looks the closest to annoyed as she's ever come.

"Let's get to Dragon Granny's," Cobra sighs. "This century would be preferable."

* * *

 **Present Day**

 **Eastern Magnolia Forest, Fiore.**

 **Saturday, October 16th, X792.**

 **1:02 AM.**

Cobra hates the woods. There are a million too many sounds to focus on and trying to tune them out is a lot like trying to plug a giant hole in a tank with matchsticks. It's easier now that he has something to focus all of his attention on but that doesn't mean he won't gripe about it.

"Is it possible to get West Nile out here?" Laxus slaps his neck yet again. "Wendy? Is it?"

"Maybe. I'd have to check the health department's findings for this term, but I doubt it. We would have heard it on the news." Laxus looks more disturbed than relieved at the news. "There is a vaccine for this, yeah?"

Wendy remains silent and steps over yet another thick root. If the situation were anything else, then Cobra might have laughed at the unease that spread across the normally stoic man's face. "Wendy?" Laxus calls again. "Hey, wait, is there? Wendy?"

"We should be there in another five minutes," Midnight tells Cobra. "Are you getting anything?"

The poison dragon slayer tilts his head. "Lucy's out. She's either asleep or sedated and I'm not getting anything."

"Have you tried Mest?" Cobra shakes his head. "If I lose Lucy we're screwed."

"We know where they are."

"We made a logical conclusion," Cobra corrects. "In reality, she could be anywhere in the same area. I lose Lucy, I lose my trace. Who knows if she'll ping back the second time."

"You have to give it a try," Midnight says. "It's a risk we have to take."

Cobra smiles grimly and points ahead. "Nope. Porly's ahoy."

It's always so odd dropping by the hermit-lady's house the few times he's been. Compared to the various modern structures of Magnolia that he's grown accustomed to, the odd shack Porlyusica resides in sticks out like a sore thumb in his mind. Not that he has any room to talk given that he vividly remembers living in a giant blue crystal-tower-thing at one point.

"There's a barrier," Laxus points out. He taps the barrier with his foot and watches as a ripple of purple runes flash in response. Cobra resists the urge to growl in frustration. Runes are a weak spot for him. He can't understand anything about them because that's always been more of Racer's thing. He regrets never taking him up on those rune dissolving lessons.

"I've been around Freed long enough to know a thing or two," Laxus offers. He nudges his foot again. "Those look a lot like your basic 'you can't come in' runes." He lifts his hand and hits the barrier in front of his face several times, watching carefully. "These are, uh...privacy ones. I have something similar. You can't listen in no matter what."

"How did I find Lucy, then?"

"Your connection must be pretty strong. I'm guessing you can't hear Granny or Mest?" At Cobra's nod, Laxus continues, "That's why. Lucy might be weak here because of this but you can still get a feel for her."

"Can you break these?" Midnight asks. Laxus clickes his tongue. "Nope. Not gonna try, either. Because.. " he hovers his index finger a little off the barrier and swings it around while mouthing something. Eventually, he pokes a spot and sighs when the runes grow a dark purple in response. "Because I was right. You mess up in the code and you mess up the runes. They'll default to intruder and set off booby traps."

"Paranoid bitch," Cobra hisses.

"And well within reason," Porlyusica sneers as she opens the front door. "So annoying brats like you learn to leave me alone. Wendy, get in and go to the back. Don't start anything until I get in."

Wendy's gone before the instructions are finished. Cobra crosses his arms and rises to his full 6'1. "And us?"

"Unless you can behave and avoid interrogating the Council boy then you're all staying out here," Porlyusica grouches. "No need to worry. Everyone is physically fine. Mostly."

"Who got hurt?" Cobra rotates his wrists. _Calm, calm, calm, calm as an innocent fawn. Don't be Lucy, don't be Lucy, don't be Lucy, don't be Lucy-_

"The blonde and the Council boy are both fine," Porlyusica says. Relief sweeps through his chest just as the exhaustion from his search sets into his bones and turns them into metal weights. He's...tired. Worried. Tired and worried.

"Then who's hurt?" Midnight wonders. "You said that _mostly_ everyone was physically fine. If Lucy and Mest are okay, who isn't?"

Pity clouds Porlyusica's eyes and she steps back to hold her door open for them. "You'd better come in. This...this is going to take a bit."

Cobra crosses the barrier, and he can hear _everything._

For the first time in a long time, he wishes he can't.

* * *

 _There is no one in between us,_

 _Only you and I are here._

 _Tell me, then, why is there distance between us?_

- _Baarish_

* * *

 **A/N:** Cobra and Laxus are my favourite squabbling duo to write for. The second gen slayers really have me hooked. I also enjoy chase scenes, if this chapter hasn't made it obvious.

Hit that mf review button!

-Eien


	4. Bones Don't Lie

**A/N:** An actual update! New, fresh content! Amazing! I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, mainly because it's one that's heavily based in medicine so it was a good way for me to keep my own knowledge going while also hitting up my research skills. Shout out to NCBI for having research papers available for us simple folk with no paid journal subscriptions. Granted, I could access paid for journals through my university, but I digress...

***IF YOU ARE READING THIS CHAPTER IMMEDIATELY WITHOUT LOOKING AT THE OTHERS, PLEASE GO TO CHAPTER ONE FOR IMPORTANT INFORMATION***

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail, Hiro Mashima does. I also do not own any of the songs used at the beginning and end of the chapters.**

* * *

 _Our skies became one,_

 _Like a dream, it has turned to smoke._

 _Our skies became one,_

 _Like breaths, it has spread in parts._

 _Go wherever you will,_

 _You will find only me._

 _My shadows are made of you._

 _I'm a planet now,_

 _You're a planet, too._

 _Now, we will meet where the stars do._

 _-Saiyaara._

* * *

 **Present Day**

 **Eastern Magnolia Forest, Fiore.**

 **Saturday, October 16th, X792.**

 **1:05 AM.**

Wendy sieves the world into five compartments as she makes for the back room: she sees a broken table in the corner of her eye, hears three heartbeats (one a little faster than the others - an arrythmia?), tastes blood in the air ( _Mest's,_ a part of her responds, _Granny lied, he's hurt_ ), smells so much she can only filter it enough to let her know there's someone severely sick in the back, and she feels _heaviness_ in the air, like thick phlegm she can't scrape off. A cursory pulse of magic does nothing to peel it off her skin.

 _The Eclipse Gate._

"Wendy," Mest greets her from his position as sentry by the back room. She crouches down before him and gives him a cursory scan. No gaping wounds, no head wounds, and no bloody clothes. Either Granny has patched him up or he's done a damn good job of hiding it from her.

"You're bleeding," Wendy says, summoning blue light to her hands. The boost of sensory capacity that her healing magic grants her hits her just as the stench of alcohol does. Her head shoots up. "You drank," she accuses.

"Guess I won't be getting that one year chip, huh?" He smiles sheepishly and holds out his hand. A cut across his palm bleeds sluggishly through a thin square of gauze, which she peels back to reveal a shallow gash that is near surgical in cleanliness. She closes the cut with one hand and presses the other to his liver to assess the damage; he's not had much, which is a small mercy for him because she's about to do him worse. Fury muddles all rational thought and has her magic sputtering out, but she can't find it in her to care. Mest _swore_ to both her and Lahar that he would never drink again, that he would not so much as lick the foam off the top of beer or take a whiff of after-shave, and here he is smelling of expensive whiskey and regret.

He _promised._

"Granny has banana bags in the back," Wendy announces as she rises. She doesn't offer him a hand up.

"I had _one drink_ ," Mest stresses. "I'm not thiamine deficient."

"With _your_ history, we can't be too sure." She flinches a little at how cold she sounds. She's being cruel but he _deserves_ it. The banana bag won't do anything to speed up his sobriety - at the most it will help correct an electrolyte imbalance - nor will it rectify any severe chemical imbalances. What it _will_ do is give her the immense satisfaction of watching him squirm when she sets up the I.V. line.

( _A little thiamine to lessen the chances of Korsakoff's,_ she frets on the inside, _if he's slipped up now he's...he'll do it again.)_

"Fair enough," Mest says, though neither of them miss the way he fiddles with his rubber band. Wendy grasps the door handle and freezes when Mest grabs her wrist. "Hey, listen, you need to know beforehand. Lucy's not alone in there."

"I could sense a third heartbeat inside, who is it?"

Mest hesitates. "It...you have to stay calm, okay? And hear me out. Promise?"

 _So_ now _a promise between us is worth something_? she wants to say, but she nods because she can't trust herself to speak. Not now.

"Future Rogue came back-"

 _Nononononononono._ Her lungs burn but she breathes in more and more, trying to yank out _his_ scent from the mess of chemicals that mask it all. He can't be here, he _can't_ because Natsu _killed him_ , she saw the light that night - they _all_ did. If he's back, if he's _behind those doors_ , Wendy will _kill him_. Spinning magic circles burst open at her feet and the tips of her hair go pink with Dragon Force. She'll kill him, she'll kill him, _she's going to kill him-_!

"And he left Lucy with his kid. The one he had with Future Lucy," Mest finishes hurriedly.

Abruptly, it all goes away.

" _What_?" Wendy demands. Her mind reels with timelines and scenarios, but the dominant train of thought is _they had a kid together_. That alone brings to light several important revelations, the primary of which are _Future Rogue killed his lover_ and _Lucy watched her Future Self be killed by_ her _Future Lover._

The irony of the Sky Dragon Slayer being unable to breathe is not lost upon her as she leans against the door for support. Mest's hand around her wrist is a comforting warmth that breaks the numbing cold that's swept through her. The edges of her eyes throb and prick with tears that refuse to fall as her body pours all its energy into keeping her heartbeat steady and her chest rising and falling. How can this be _happening_? Haven't they been through enough? Witnessed so much death and loss? The worn-thin fabric of their lives has only been stitched back together and it's being shred before the needle has been put down.

Wendy doesn't think they'll be able to survive this tear.

"Her name's Cynthia Cheney. Lucy didn't give us any details beyond that before passing out, but Porlyusica says this girl is _fucked_. Looks like she's been through a war-zone, she's on a million I.V. lines," Mest reports. Wendy exhales shakily and runs a trembling hand through her short hair. She can't afford to freak out, not now. Granny said to wait, but…

She steels herself and stands up straight. Triage first, panic later. She opens the door, slips on her white coat and stethoscope, and snaps on a pair of latex gloves. "Lucy's condition?"

"She's in shock but sleeping it off. No injuries, nothing you can do," Mest reports. "Do you want me to check her head for anything?"

"All the information you can get about her time with Future Rogue," Wendy says. "Wait, let me banana bag you first."

She sets up the primary line on the back of his palm and goes through the motions of spiking the bag. A few squeezes of the drip chamber until it's half full and she loosens the roller clamp to flush the line and remove air bubbles (a short tap of her magic on top of it, just to be sure). She pops the cap off and connects the I.V. lines, and then holds out the bag. "You wanna hold it or should I put it on a pole?"

"I'll hold it, you go deal with Cynthia."

Wendy's first order of business is collecting samples for later analysis. There's a plethora of information to be gained from the little things Cynthia has picked up in _that_ timeline. She carefully scrapes under all her nails and slides the grime from underneath into four labeled envelopes: _left hand, right hand, left foot, right foot._ Fingerprints on cards are stapled to the back. Methodically, she reaches for the blood basket. Finding a vein on her is going to be _impossible_ but if Granny could find some for the I.V's, so can she. Elbows are out, seeing as those are occupied, but her stick-thin wrists are free for the taking.

Wendy has always been on the extremely skinny side, but even she has trouble remembering if her wrists were as thin as this girl's at her approximate age.

She takes five bottles for now. She doesn't want to risk anything by taking any more. Hair samples are next; while Wendy doubts the girl has been taking hard drugs, heavy metal poisoning is something she can't afford to rule out. She gently rips off a few strands of thinning hair ( _iron deficiency, she needs supplements_ ) and tucks those in another envelope. As she swabs her mouth with a Q-tip, Wendy takes note of the dentition present before her. Enamel hypoplasia ( _vitamin A and D deficiency_ ) is the most prominent issue before her, but a brief probe of her mouth with her magic yields weak salivary glands (definitely _iron deficient_ ) and some gum scarring ( _vitamin C_ ). Her teeth are oddly erupted, which, in conjunction with the above only confirm her suspicions - _severe_ malnutrition. She seals the Q-tip and places it in the large plastic bag with the others. A urine sample will come later when she's awake.

Wendy flexes her fingers and wills her magic to life.

A cursory exploratory scan will never beat a full range of tests and scans, but with no CT or MRI on hand, and not enough time and equipment to do a full surgical sieve, Wendy will have to settle for what she can get in the next couple minutes.

Her first line of business is ruling out anything glaringly obvious. Granny has already set up a simple I.V. line for electrolytes to correct the surface metabolic issue. She'll have to set one up for the vitamin and mineral deficiencies later. Wendy hovers over Cynthia's chest, probing her lungs; there's some light scarring to them that indicates chronic lung infections. Layer after thin layer of healing magic molds itself on top of the hardened tissue, at which point Wendy _pushes_. Under the sheer force of her magic, bit by bit, the scar tissue breaks into a million microscopic pieces that she suspends in place while her other hand gently coaxes the raw, healthy tissue beneath to speed up in healing. The whole process, including pulling out the damaged tissue through her mouth, takes fifteen minutes.

 _You're getting faster_.

There's still some inflammation about her lungs and the underlying infection lurks untreated so she makes a mental note to start her on a broad-spectrum antibiotic to hit that _and_ whatever nasties lurk about the rest of her system. Amoxicillin or Ampicillin are her two best bets. Degenerative disorders are both unlikely and beyond her purview at the moment, as are neoplastic syndromes. There's no major, daunting physical trauma to deal with.

She pauses for a second, and then goes for the bones.

There is something eerily beautiful about the way the human body can store a lifetime of information in its smallest components. No matter how many times cells shed anew, there are markers permanently etched into the tiniest bits of _you_. A person's whole life story can be derived from the way bones have grown and isotopes have settled in teeth. Coiled DNA splits and splits and _splits_ , and never falters in its ability to tell her about the person and their parents and grandparents and great-grandparents _ad infinitum_.

Her epiphyseal plates obviously have yet to fuse, but the growth pattern is _off_. If Cynthia was five or six this would have been in line with her development but the cellular structure of the plate best matches up with someone who's seven, approaching _eight_. Wendy reaches for her thin wrist to check the fusion of the small bones and bites her cheek. The gaps are a little wider than she would have liked but there's no use in arguing with it - bones don't lie. She's seven.

What sends a chill down her spine next isn't the remodeled fractures - the thick triangles of a butterfly fragment from an injury at four, a thin crack on her left femur at five, diagonal fracture across three ribs at five, broken wrist at five, and poorly healed fractures on her upper arms at age six - but the _healing pattern_ of those fractures because she _developed that method of remodeling_. Traces of her magic still flutter within the bones, sending tingles through her fingers as they readily accept the thrum of her power.

Except for the ones at age six and above. Those healed naturally.

Fixing the remodeling of those injuries is a task that requires no attention from her, which is a good thing because all of that is being diverted to keeping her standing.

It isn't the coiled DNA that tells Wendy her fate in that timeline - no, that is reserved for the girl and her kin. It's the shoddy remodeling that spells it out for her because if she'd been around to heal everything up until the age of six, then her upper arms should be responding to her magic like the other bones are; instead, all there is is radio silence.

Future Wendy died approximately six years into the war. One year short of Future Rogue's attack.

What good is she? If everyone else died that means she couldn't save them. If she died that means she couldn't save _herself_. Either way, what use is Dragon Slaying magic and the healing magic she so covets if it fails her and her loved ones in the end? She can fix bones and knit together muscle but she can't look a Dragon in the eye without backup. Even during her battle against Zirconis she needed Laxus as her heavy hitter. She's a _healer_ and a _fighter_ , dammit, she has the advantage. _The hands that heal are the deadliest in warfare_. It's what Grandeeney and Porlyusica hammered into her head and it's what she tells herself every time she's up to bat, but without fail she's always on the sidelines waiting for help.

Her guts constrict painfully. _Did I die waiting for help that would never come?_

"What's the status?" Mest breaks her reverie. "You good? Your hands are trembling."

Wendy stares at her hands in detached surprise. Blood dripdrip _drips_ over the purple edges of crescent moons on the skin of her palms. The crimson liquid trickles across the crevices of her palms, sliding down established lines that arc up and down her hand. She watches one drop stray off path and bisect the line that swoops in a semi-circle around her thumb and ends at her wrist. For all she's worth, she can't even keep herself from being hurt.

"She's...in bad shape, but fixable," Wendy reports, stuffing her hands into the coat's deep pockets and wiping the blood off discreetly. She can clean them properly with rubbing alcohol when she goes to find an appropriate dosage of antibiotics for the girl. Cynthia.

"That's good," Mest says. He holds up his banana bag and Wendy jerks back a little when she realizes how much of it is gone.

"How long was I…?"

"An hour and a half, give or take." He shrugs. An hour and a half for a basic scan. _Pathetic._

"They haven't come bursting through yet?" Wendy eyes the door. Cobra should have been right on her heels and by Lucy's bedside. Right now they're in the living room talking too quietly for her to decipher anything beyond the muffled pitches that indicate a steady conversation between Cobra, Laxus, and Granny.

"It took me forty-five minutes to get _her_ all caught up. I slipped out a half-hour ago to go and check on them. She's keeping them busy, talking in circles and all that," Mest says, waving a hand dismissively. His dark green eyes flicker to her pockets. "I say we have twenty minutes before she runs out of excuses. Are you okay?"

"I died six years into the future." Saying it out loud only makes it more real, only winds the wrench in her gut tight enough until something _explodes_. The temporary relief from the coil within her is swept away by pulses of agony that send her to her knees. She presses her bloody hands to her mouth and holds in a sob. She _died_. How does Lucy live like this? If just the knowledge that her life was cut so short has her in this state, how does Lucy go on after _watching_ her Future Self die? Holding her in her arms as she bled out?

She dieddied _died_ and it's her own damn fault for not being strong enough.

"How do-? Nevermind, I don't care," Mest declares. He falls down beside her and Wendy finds herself crushed to his chest with the banana bag pressed into her neck. "Cry. I'll Direct Line us out of here if they burst in, don't worry."

"It's just - h-how do-? I _kn-knew_ I did but I can't-!"

"There's a part of you that always knew but having it confirmed is just... _weird_."

He knows, too. He's had the same revelation she's undergoing. There is some comfort in knowing that she's not alone, that one of her closest friends is in the same place she is. As of right now, they're the only two members of a special club of mages who are well aware of their fate in an alternate timeline, but have been forced to confront that ugly reality sooner than they'd like to admit.

"Do you think we suffered?" Wendy whispers, half-afraid that saying it any louder will summon the demon that knows of _that_ Wendy's fate. "Did we die alone?"

"I don't know," Mest replies honestly. "But we died protecting something, didn't we? Fairy Tail. That makes it worth it."

 _Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dumba-dumba-dumba-dum._

 _But you don't believe that, do you?_

* * *

 _After meeting you, it has so happened,_

 _An unfulfilled wish has been completed._

 _As you left, you took with you,_

 _Every reason for me to live._

 _-Saiyaara._

* * *

 **A/N:** I adore writing for Wendy, but I adore writing for _my_ version of Wendy, or, as I like to call her, r/quityourbullshit!Wendy. A badass with insecurities hidden behind a backbone and ribcage of steel. Her insecurities will play a pretty big role later on, so keep an eye out.

The purpose of this chapter was twofold: to introduce a couple themes I want to play with (how do you react when you find out you die in the near future?) and to introduce some fun 'parallels' as it were - Wendy and Mest are my favourite BROTP so they obviously get some solid together time, but pay close attention to the way they both reacted to the knowledge that they died in the future. Another thing I'm going to toy with is...well, I've been watching a lot of 'House' lately, and as my favourite grouchy doctor likes to quip, "Everybody Lies". What _I'm_ going to have fun doing is incorporating that into this fic - everybody lies, to themselves and others, but the body doesn't. Magic doesn't.

Or does it?

Hit that mf review button!

-Eien


	5. QRS Complex

**A/N:** It's been a while but in my defense, I had to finish CoLu Week. Now that THAT's over...freedom?

I understand that there's been a lot of confusion about the whole timeline issue, so this chapter was developed specifically to help smooth that over. I'll give a little more of a blurb at the end A/N, so for now just buckle down and enjoy the ride. I _promise_ this is going to be one of the last non Lucy/Erik/Rogue/Sting POV chapters for a while. There might be a section here and there from another point of view, but it will only be a section. I'll definitely be returning to do a chapter from Wendy or Mest's POV again, but that won't be for a while.

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Fairy Tail, Hiro Mashima does. I also do not own any of the songs at the beginning and the end of every chapter.**

* * *

 _Without you, what is mine,  
That I listen to, that I speak to?  
Without you, what do I have in me,  
Which I should live for, in which to live?  
In you alone my life is there,  
In a moment of your life, my centuries exist.  
Without you, I am a desert,  
Without you, I am not even a drop._

 _-Tu Jo Hai To Main Hoon_

* * *

 **Future Timeline.**

 **Magnolia, Fiore.**

 **Wednesday, October 16th, X800.**

 **1:22 AM.**

 _He registers pain before anything else._

 _Sharpness that digs into him from the outside and within. He rides out the waves of pain, each one more powerful than the last, as he tries to remember how to move. Muscles have to_ contract _to to that, tendons have to_ pull _, but he doesn't know_ how _. It's all he can do to keep his chest rising and falling - in, in, in, in, stop, stop, stop, out, out, out, out, out, out, out. Repeat. He focuses on that instead of the pain._

 _In, in, in, in, stop, stop, stop, out, out, out, out, out, out, out._

 _Repeat._

 _A twitch. He can twitch his fingers. With less grace than a newborn, he familiarizes himself with what little he can reach. Rough, hard, grating on his nails. Rock. He's on top of rock. Many rocks, which explains the deeper pains dispersed below him. He suspects that one has pierced his abdomen._

 _This isn't Heaven, but he's not entirely sure this is Hell, either._

 _He opens his eye and is met with a blood red sky and the cries of clashing dragons above him._

 _He's back._

" _...how…?" he mouths. Talking is too painful. His throat refuses to constrict to allow it. Air is a precious resource and his body is running on primal instinct alone, greedily taking in as much as he can._

 _He struggles to keep his racing heart steady. A faster heart means more bloodflow which means he'll bleed out before he's able to find safety. He needs safety. They all need safety. Who's left? Who needs safety? He needs safety. That sounds nice. Safety. What is safety? It feels warm, he thinks, and he's oh-so-cold._

 _How is he_ back _? Natsu...he remembers the Natsu of_ that _timeline, the one he tried to destroy, killing him. Or, he_ thinks _he killed him. His memories are a jumble of screams and golden light calling him back. Golden light...Lucy._

"Destiny is inescapable. The living will live. The dead will die. The person who closes the portal will close the portal. No matter what happens, as long as they're alive."

"I don't really follow you, but who is this person that interferes?"

"You...Lucy Heartfilia!"

 _Oh,_ God _, what has he_ done _?_

 _His throat tightens, not so he can vocalize his anguish, but so it can force up the bile in his stomach. His jaw screams in agony as vomit, dark and ugly and tinged with blood, spews forth and coats the rocks and the side of his face, over and over and over again, and when his stomach is well and truly empty, all that comes out is the blood in his lungs._

 _He wishes he was on his back for this, so he could asphyxiate on it and_ die _for real this time._

"Rogue Cheney _," a disembodied voice echoes around him. No. Disembodied_ voices. _More than one. They're everywhere. He's surrounded. He's surrounded and he can't even fight back._

 _He doesn't want to._

" _Wh-who are y-y-you?" he spits out of clenched teeth, rich red blood painting his words. "Wh-wh-what do y-you w-w-w-want?"_

"We are the Fates. We come to you with a proposition."

" _I ref-f-fuse. I'm g-going to d-d-die h-here. I w-w-want to d-d-die."_

"Your daughter should not bear the brunt of your mistakes, should she?"

 _Daughter. He has a daughter. He and Lucy have a daughter._

 _Cynthia._

" _Wh-what do y-you w-w-want me t-to do?"_

* * *

 **Present Day**

 **Eastern Magnolia Forest, Fiore.**

 **Saturday, October 16th, X792.**

 **3:00 AM.**

Laxus waits until Wendy's heartbeat reaches a steady _ba-dumba-dumba-um_ that's only a little faster than her baseline before he knocks on the door.

"Come in." He hears her murmur. There's a brief scuffle behind the door that he recognizes as people standing up and moving about. He gives them another ten seconds to adjust and wipe away any stray tears, and then enters as quietly as he can.

"How are they?" Laxus asks, though he already knows the answer: _terrible_. It doesn't take a doctor to see it, but the backing of one is never a bad thing.

"Lucy's asleep. She's fine physically but mentally…" Mest wrinkles his nose. "I don't like what I'm seeing. Her amygdala's acting up pretty hard."

"The amygdala's implicated in linking emotions to memories, so she's likely undergoing a flashback of sorts, reliving her time with Future Rogue," Wendy explains. Laxus's brow furrows, not at what she's saying but _how_ she's saying it. He's never heard Wendy this morose before. The sky slayer inhales shakily and continues, eyeing the girl on the other cot. "This is Cynthia Cheney. She's not doing well physically, but I'm going to fix her. Mentally...beyond my purview. We just have to wait for her to wake up on her own time. Any sooner would be torture."

Laxus nods, following her gaze to the girl. He slips on his 'deep thinking face', the one he knows that the other two have seen him don in serious situations. Predictably, they shut up and give him space to mull over the situation. He feels a twinge of guilt for duping them; this particular trick of his doesn't require as much concentration as it did fifteen years ago but the less he's disturbed the better.

Measuring skin conductance isn't the same as reading minds but Laxus has refined it to an art form at this point. The read on the room isn't pleasant. The girl is understandably on edge, even while asleep - Erza had been the same back when she'd first joined Fairy Tail. Mest's is...blocked, somehow, or a little out of whack. The banana bag in his hand clues him in and Laxus sighs internally. He'd been doing so well, too. His eyes flick over to Wendy, who's in the process of administering medication to the girl. She does a fine job of keeping her face impassive but her skin is positively _skittering_. He can't pin down one emotion: terror, self-loathing, fear, sadness, a weak sense of determination. He makes a note to have a chat with her later on, slayer to slayer. No. Friend to friend. This isn't something _that_ kind if camaraderie will be able to solve. He turns to Lucy and sighs once again. There's only _one_ emotion raging here.

Fear.

"How long's she been asleep?" Laxus jerks his head towards the Celestial Mage.

"Three hours, give or take," Mest says.

"Can you wake her up?" Laxus asks. Wendy starts, the first real change in mental state she's had in a half hour if he's correct.

"Granny used a benzodiazepine to put her to sleep, so if I can find some flumazenil then yes," Wendy replies, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Why? Lucy needs to rest."

"Wait, Granny did? That cheater! No wonder she knew when Lucy conked out. Here I thought she had super senses or something…" Mest pouts. Wendy giggles in response, shaking her head as she goes on to explain the effects and uses of benzos to the former councilman. Laxus watches them both with a clinical eye, but hones in on Wendy specifically. Her conductance is less skittish now, something that eases his mind. He's always been rather fond of the youngest slayer, taken her under his wing like an older brother, so seeing her in this state of...chaos, is the only word for it, has every inch of his being prickling to eliminate the threat.

Ironic, really. He's the biggest, baddest mage in the _country_ but this is one thing a Thunder Palace can't fix. Not for the first time, Laxus curses his stunted emotional growth. He's always relied on others to fill that gap for him, using his reputation as a buffer to cover for his one weakness - nobody is willing to approach _the_ legendary Laxus Dreyar, either out of fear or respect, and Laxus Dreyar is unwilling to approach anybody, mostly out of fear. Emotions...they aren't his forte. Even now, the thought of waking Lucy up and asking her how she's doing sends a cold spot blooming through his chest and down his veins.

 _I don't have a bandaid big enough to slap on this shit._

By the time Wendy has finished her shpeel on the pros and cons of benzos, Laxus is (mostly) collected and (mostly) ready to face the choir.

"I need to talk to her about the incident and get a timeline," Laxus says, holding a hand up at their protests. "Yeah, I know. But the sooner the better. Then she can go back to sleep, I'll give her the benzos myself."

He might take some himself after. He has a feeling he'll need it.

Though she looks ready to protest the whole while, Wendy dutifully gets the flumazenil and injects it into Lucy's central line. Laxus gives Mest a pointed look, one that says 'scram, but stick around for later', and he touches Wendy's elbow to Direct Line them out. They appear in the living room a moment later, leaving Laxus to take a seat next to Lucy's bed and monitor her until she rouses.

Her heartrate monitor dutifully maps out the spikes and bumps of her heartbeat. Bump, line, dip, spike, dip, up, line, bump. Bump, line, dip, spike, dip, up, line, bump. Over and over, a textbook perfect example of a heartbeat, not a line out of place, not an inch too close or too far. _Perfect_. His own heart clenches painfully. Is this the last time it's ever going to be so calm for her? He digs his fingers into the mattress to keep himself from administering the benzodiazepine again, just to let her live in oblivion for a little longer. He's Fairy Tail's next Master, for crying out loud. He has a _duty_ to keep her safe, even from herself.

But how long can he shield her for? A day? A week? Should he put her in a coma if it means she never has to face reality? Should _everyone_ be put in a coma, too? Should those who know about the girl have their memories wiped? Life will be easier that way. If the girl never existed. He bites the corner of his lip, forcing back a bittersweet smile. How many years of his own youth were spent telling himself that life would be easier if he ceased to exist? Too many to count.

There's a sudden spike in her heartbeat that snaps him out of it. He remains perfectly still as Lucy gathers her bearings and sits up in bed. His eyes follow hers as they move about the room, familiarizing herself with the area as her mind comes to grips with it all. When the spikes come faster, he clears his throat and brushes Lucy's knuckles.

"Hey. You know where you are?"

"Porlyusica's," Lucy whispers. "Mest brought me and…"

"Cynthia," Laxus supplies. Lucy flinches back, as if he'd just pulled a punch an inch away from her nose.

"Who told you? I told Mest that...I couldn't. Not now."

"Plue came running for us," Laxus explains. There's a brief touch of calm to her conductance at the mention of her spirit, so he latches onto that. "He was very brave. Led a recon team all the way to you."

Lucy smiles faintly. "That's my Plue. Where is he now?"

"Went back to the spirit world before we entered the forest. You've been out for three hours, just so you know." Laxus's fingers drift down her hand and curl around her wrist gently, half a show of compassion, half a private assessment of what's going on within her. His index finger presses down on her pulse almost imperceptibly. All it takes is a gentle coax on his end and her circulatory system willingly allows his magic to probe her heart. The nodes there are firing in burst panics, willing the muscle fibers to squeeze tighter and tighter and _tighter_ so she has the blood necessary to _fight_.

"Hey, Lucy," Laxus says, reaching up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear. His hand stays there, pressed against her skull, hiding barely-there pulses of electricity with the scratch of his nails against her skin. Wendy's shown him the amydgala and hippocampus on a diagram before, so it's just a matter of making sure his magic hits those neurons only. The effect is instantaneous - Lucy's entire _being_ unclenches and her heart rate drops down to a comfortable 65 beats per minute.

Bump, line, dip, spike, dip, up, line, bump.

Perfect.

"Did Future Rogue tell you how he got here?" Laxus presses. "The sooner we know the faster we can figure out what to do next."

Lucy's eyebrows furrow deeply. "He mentioned...Fate? He said he had a chance to fulfil one last promise. Or something."

"Fate…?" Laxus muses, leaning back in his seat. His status as an S-Class mage has sent him around the country and across borders into lands that are rich with texts that Magnolia can't offer. A quick trip down memory lane yields no specific mention of 'Fate' as an entity or magic, but he figures Freed or Levy might have a better idea of what to look for.

The concept of _Fate_...Laxus has always found great amusement in deriding those who believe in such nonsense. Fate, destiny, divine providence, call it what you will, but the notion that some higher being has scripted it all and there's nothing to do but throw in the towel and obey it is hot bullshit. Destiny is for people too weak, too lazy, too _scared_ to stand up and fight for themselves; the universe itself is such that it will always tend to follow the path of least resistance - why should humans be any different? But there are always _exceptions_ to the rule. Laxus is one of them. Destiny did not demand he lead civil war in his Guild, and it did not demand his exile. His choices were his own and his choices are what shape the future. The one _he_ is in control of.

If there _is_ such a thing as Fate, Laxus feels comfortable with the idea of punching it out.

"Yeah, it made no sense. I'm just...so confused, I thought he died?" Lucy says, turning her anxious brown eyes his way. She fiddles with the tape holding down her IV, picking at the curling corners. "How did he bring her here? Were he and Future Lucy even from the same timeline? He didn't seem to recognize her when…she didn't either."

"Psychosis probably kept him from realizing what was going on. As for her...repression? Who knows. I _do_ think they were from the same timeline, though. It would make the most sense. Having _two_ separate entities from similar timelines at the same place at once, only for one to murder the other? Statistically unlikely. But, of course, that's why I'm here," Laxus says, nodding at the pouch on her hip. "You've got the most organic connection to space-time. That spirit of yours, Crux...maybe he can explain."

Lucy pulls out the key with shaky hands and extends it in an arc away from her. "Open, Gate of the Southern Cross."

"Miss Lucy," Crux wheezes in greeting once the smoke of his arrival settles. "Your magic stores are low. I can send Leo-"

"No, Grandpa Crux. We need _you_ ," Lucy says with a tight smile. Laxus raises an eyebrow at the title she's bestowed the spirit. _Grandpa Crux_...she really _does_ go above and beyond for them.

"How can I be of assistance?"

"Laxus and I were wondering...could you explain a timeline issue? How is it possible for Future Rogue to be back if his timeline doesn't exist anymore?"

"How's he back if we killed him?" Laxus supplies. "We destroyed that Eclipse Gate, how is that timeline still there?"

Crux falls silent, hunching over as much as his metal frame permits him to. A small bubble at his nose expands and contracts with every rattling breath he takes. Is it possible for a spirit to die of lung complications? Hell, can non-humanesque spirits even _have_ lung complications? There's a real danger of the cross falling over and hitting the bed. Is it a concussion if the metal of his head dents?

"Is he _asleep_?" Laxus whispers.

"It's his process," Lucy replies.

" _Yo!_ " Crux shouts suddenly. Laxus slowly unhooks his fingers from the plastic armrest, flexing each and every one to make sure he didn't accidentally fracture a finger. Though his eyes are glued to Crux, just like Lucy's, the rest of his senses are devoted to cataloguing the girl's reaction. Whatever they have her on isn't strong enough - her heart should not have reacted this strongly to an exclamation like that while sedated. She shouldn't be _aware_ of her surroundings.

Laxus needs to figure this out _now._

"I will do my best to explain this, Miss Lucy," Crux says. "As you know, energy can neither be created nor destroyed. The same logic applies to timelines. There are a million different timelines that exist. They can differ by something as small as your haircut, or something as large as the apocalypse. To put it as simply as I can, the timeline with Future Rogue never ceased to exist. It continues to live on, even if it's in utter chaos with no inhabitants but the dragons. When Natsu 'killed' him, he was merely sent back to his own timeline, whereupon _something_ happened to send him back here."

"What do you know about Fate?" Laxus asks. His leg is bouncing. He needs to stop doing that.

"It's an untouchable entity," Crux murmurs. "I will have to do more research and compile it for you."

"Thank you, Crux," Lucy says softly, dismissing him with a wave of her key. The nail of her thumb scratches over the intricate curves of the key, looping back up once she reaches the end. "So...there's a timeline where this never happened."

"There's one where I was successful in the coup, too," Laxus retorts. "What's your point?"

"Just that...there's at least one timeline where my life is stable. For once."

Laxus bites back a sigh at that. _God_ he hates dealing with emotions. This isn't a member of the Raijinshuu or one of the older members of the Guild who can handle his abrasiveness. On top of that, there's the emotional trauma to juggle. Fucking shit. He should call Mest. Or Erik. Mest would be better for easing her mind through this, but Erik would be better for her soul. Laxus is good for _neither_ of those things.

"There's no such thing as stability in life, Lucy," Laxus begins, his gaze pointedly fixed on the frayed ends of his pants. "You know what entropy is. The universe tends towards chaos. It might not be this bad in some other timelines, but you know damn well you're better off here than in others. This is _bad_ , but...you've been through worse." He smiles weakly. "What's a random kid compared to being sacrificed to a clock?"

His crappy attempt at lightening the mood bounces off her like Midnight's reflector magic. Laxus can't help but cringe inwardly. This will be the _last_ time he will _ever_ try and play the role of comforter. He's not good at it at all.

"Why do these things keep happening to us?" Lucy whispers, staring at the roof and blinking rapidly to abate the tears. She can't do much to stop her lips from wobbling with her words, or keep the hitching whine out of her voice, try as she might. "Haven't we suffered enough? Every single _time_ we finally achieve _peace_ , something comes along to screw it up. Each time worse than the last. _Why_?"

"I don't know, Lucy," Laxus replies, slipping the syringe of the benzodiazepine into her IV's injection port and pressing down on the plunger. "I don't know."

Her eyes slide shut and she slumps forward into his waiting arms. He lies her back down and arranges the blankets around her, lying her arms across her stomach and tilting her head to the side. He pats her face dry and pushes her bangs away. She looks peaceful. He commits the image to memory because he's not sure he's _ever_ going to see her like this again.

Then, Laxus does what he does best when faced with things like this.

He leaves.

 _Bump, line, dip, spike, dip, up, line, bump._

 _Perfect._

* * *

 _You are the relief on my face.  
I, too, am in your hands,  
like fate, scattered.  
You are my soul,  
I live when I can touch you.  
Whenever I see myself,  
Even within myself, I feel like you._

 _-Tu Jo Hai To Main Hoon_

* * *

 **A/N:** To make an incredibly long story short, if Mashima has zero respect for continuity in his own hacked-up canon when it comes to timelines, neither do I. Fuck what he said, my rules apply to my fanon. To make it clear: F!Rogue and F!Lucy are from the same timeline. They had Cynthia. F!Rogue killed F!Lucy. F!Rogue brought Cynthia back to OUR timeline. F!Rogue's hellish timeline still exists because you can't just fucking destroy timelines Mashima this isn't how the science works the science says fuck you sincerely I'm a body scientist but I know better than that what the FUCK Mashima.

So! Some fun notes now that I'm done bitching. The title of this chapter refers to the QRS Complex of a heartbeat, which is that oh-so-stereotypical spike that you see on TV when you're watching Grey's Anatomy (not that I know what goes on in Grey's - I'm loyal entirely to House). I'm pretty sure you all know why the title of this chapter is...well, titled thus!

Flumazenil is an actual drug that can counteract the effects of a benzodiazepine. Benzos are a class of drugs that are basically sedatives and anti-anxiety, amongst others. Ever been prescribed Valium? That's a benzo.

Hit that mf review!

-Eien


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